The Smuggler
by tellmesomethingnew
Summary: In year of 1957, the step-daughter of Andrew Ryan is desperate to escape from Rapture and be able to finally put the past behind her. To do so, she seeks the help of a famous Smuggler by the name of Tom Riddle, who just might be more than what she thought she needed. ?-Part fanfic rated M for later sexual themes and violence. Cover image to change.


**Disclaimer: **I most certainly do not own the characters of J.K. Rowling and do not own the world, characters, nor happenings of Ken Levine nor anyone else responsible for the awesomeness of BioShock.

* * *

_**August 30, 1957**_

The woman's body was shrouded in darkness as she stood there, facing the thick-paned glass that looked out at the aphotic mid-Atlantic sea. In the distance, lights from different buildings of the underwater city, Rapture, could be seen. She had just fished out a cigarette from her small black handbag she kept tucked under her arm as a waiter teleported to her side, snapping his fingers as his Incinerator Plasmid came to life between his thumb and index finger, a small flame growing to light the end of the cigarette. She softly thanked him before she set the cigarette to her dark red lips as the man nodded his head curtly and teleported to the side of the next customer in need of his service. The woman turned her head and watched as the waiter balled his hand that wasn't carrying a tray of small cocktails into a fist as his palm opened up atop a customer's glass. Three ice cubes gently plopped down into the golden bubbling liquid and for a moment, the woman pondered what it'd be like to have such a Plasmid – Teleportation, even Winter Blast.

For her, one Plasmid was more than enough. She looked down at her free hand, straightening her fingers to get a look at her perfectly-manicured ruby red nails, almost imagining summoning a drink into her hand. Her Telekinesis Plasmid was weak. She needed EVE to re-power it, but she refused the very thought.

_Plasmid_, she thought with her eyebrows pulled together. It was such an odd word for what the injection actually was – a genetic-splicing empowerment that was all the rage in Rapture. She despised her old boss, Bridget Tenenbaum, for inventing such a thing from the "ATAM" that came from the sea slugs that crawled along the surface around Rapture. She soon scowled at herself for thinking about these detestable things.

"I was told you were looking for me," a voice interrupted her thoughts, smooth and velvet-like. She froze, her eyes going back to the glass to catch a washed-out reflection of the man, a small pale pink jellyfish swimming outside the glass past the image.

For a moment, her eyes landed on her own reflection. Her wavy brown hair was beginning to fall from its up-do that she had been wearing all day, her red lips pursed and brown eyes that were outlined in black, weary.

The woman finally turned around and their eyes met. At first, the man's eyes widened, a look of astonishment and skepticism gracing his young, dishy features. Tom Riddle was supposed to be older. Or in the least, was supposed to be as old as his reputation proceeded him. She had foreseen an aged man, probably the same age of her step-father Andrew Ryan. But not this man who couldn't be older than thirty, dressed in a slim black and silver pinstripe suit that looked to have cost far more than she expected him to afford for being a Smuggler. But then his face turned entertained. He knew perfectly well who he was dealing with now and the woman wasn't sure whether or not he was entertained with who she was or the fact that this would indeed be an riveting job.

The small bar's atmosphere was filled with the smell of rich tobacco and strong alcohol, dimmed with the outside's darkness cutting through what little light the golden lamps on the dark green walls gave off. But even in the darkness, the two saw each other very vividly.

Tom walked closer to her, taking his time with five easy steps across the plush yellow carpet until he stood just a foot away from her, a full foot and some inches taller. He loomed over her, dark eyes, pale skin, and handsome features almost intimidating.

"I must say. It certainly is a pleasure to meet the famous Miss Ryan," said Tom as he held out a hand to her.

The woman hesitated as she sucked in the smoke from her cigarette and took it away from her lips, letting out a puff of a white cloud in the man's face before she dropped her free hand into his. She was expecting a handshake, but what she got was something different. Tom curled his hand so that her's sat curled between his thumb and palm. He leaned his head down, pressing his lips to the skin just before the cuff of her white sleeved blouse, all the while without neglect of eye contact. A soft gasp made its way from the woman's throat. Tom's hand was strong, warm, and large. On top of that, his lips were warm and smooth against her skin. It almost sent a shiver down her spine from the sensation of such physical contact. It had been a while since anything like that had happened.

Not since Ron.

She pulled her hand back and forced a simple smile, ignoring the tingling sensation his lips left behind on her wrist.

"Please, I'd prefer 'Granger'," the woman said in a quiet voice. Her eyes traveled around the area, noting each and every person around them. No one was looking their way and no one had been in earshot. Everyone seemed to be in their own little world, laughing softly, drinking, smoking, making gentle conversation in the private bar of High Street.

"Am I allowed to call you by your first name, Hermione?" he tested with a smug grin.

"No," Hermione promptly quipped, shivering a the way he said her name. It was almost seductive. Maybe just a jesting suggestion.

She watched him give her such a smile that it almost made her not want to trust him. Maybe she wasn't to trust him at all, but she had no choice at the moment.

"What is it you need, _Miss Granger_?" Tom asked, his eyes finally leaving her. He pulled out his own cigarette and lit it with his own fingers. When he was done with the flame, he shook his hand as if shaking out a match until the flame disappeared.

_Who didn't have the Incinerator Plasmid around here anymore?_ But most importantly, how did a Smuggler get a hold on such an expensive product.

Tom Riddle was the best Smuggler anyone but the police and Andrew Ryan knew. Of course it'd be no surprise on how he got his hands on practically anything.

A clock nearby struck 9 o'clock and the woman took another puff of her cigarette, their eyes finding their way back to contact. It was risky asking someone to call Andrew's step-daughter another name, but the woman hadn't a choice. _Hermione Granger_ had always fit better than _Hermione Ryan_.

Instead of answering Tom properly, she tilted her head and let the small smile she had been wearing fall.

"Would do a woman a favor and walk her home?" Hermione turned her body towards Tom fully now, waiting diligently for his response.

Tom hesitated and then nodded his head, motioning towards the doors that led out into High Street. "Ladies first," he murmured to her smoothly.

Hermione made her way over to the doors, pushing her cigarette butt swiftly into the ashtray at the corner of the mahogany wood bar she passed by. Once through the doors, her eyes squinted and worked on adjusting to the brightness of the new atmosphere.

High Street had a heavenly glow to it, one wall was filled with stories of shops, restaurants, and bars. To the far-most left were large red-carpeted stairs leading down to Main Street with another wall of nothing but the glass looking out at Rapture and the sea standing no more than four stories high. Some people, dressed in the most expensive clothing of Rapture, stood around laughing and talking about who-knows-what, while others walked around, on their way to who-knows-where. Most looked tired, probably on their way home to their apartments for sleep.

Tom came up behind Hermione, who had been walking towards the stairs down to Main Street so she could make her way to Rapture Metro where a tram waited to take her to Mercury Suits where her apartment sat waiting for her. He looked over and down at her, his cigarette trapped between his lips as he buried his hands into his pockets. Hermione missed the flash of cunning mischief in the man's eyes as she smiled to a few women who waved to her. Her red skirt fluttered behind her as she descended the stairs, her hands softly running down the metal railings as her red heels soon clicked against the stone flooring of Main Street. It was almost a challenge for Tom to keep up with her.

"So are you going to tell me what it is you want from me?" Tom asked her with a fake chuckle. It might have been believable to others, but Hermione was no fool. It made her stop and look up at him with a scowl once they left Main Street and entered into the large area of Rapture Metro.

A few people were about, along with a few conductors to work the controls of the empty, waiting trams on the two different tracks.

"Tell me, Mr. Riddle," she began as she took a step close to him, she blinked up at him, her thick and long mascara-covered eyelashes almost giving her the illusion of being the most beautiful woman in all of Rapture. (Maybe she was. No one would say it aloud.) She crossed her arms over her chest and he took a puff from his cigarette, "can you make a person disappear?" She gave no room for him to respond as she made her way to the closest tram, smiling at the waiting conductor who tipped his grime-covered green hat at her. He got into the control part of the tram and opened the doors for the main part of the tram. Tom entered it behind her once she was sitting down and comfortable for the fifteen-minute ride. They were alone.

Tom finally had time to laugh. It was dark and almost twisted. He shook his head as he took the seat across from Hermione.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked him, sounding partially offended as the tram rocked into motion.

"Listen, Miss Ryan-"

"Granger."

"_Granger_," he murmured as he looked over at her, his smile turning twisted and his eyebrows raising. "If it's someone you want me killed, all y-"

Hermione's raised hand had stopped him from speaking. He almost spoke over it, but he knew it'd be bad manners. And Tom most certainly did not wish to get on her bad side any time soon.

"I'm not talking about having someone being killed. I'm talking about someone disappearing. From Rapture."

Tom blinked at her, rubbing the back of his neck before he took the cigarette from his mouth.

"Unless they can be _killed_, no one's allowed to leave the city, right?" he asked her. His tone suggested that she was clueless, maybe even stupid. That fueled the rage that had been boiling up within her chest.

"Yes, I know. B-"

"So why are you asking for the impossible." He shrugged, putting the cigarette back to his lips as his hands crossed behind his head and he crossed his legs, shaking his head at the woman.

"Listen here, Mr. Riddle," Hermione started as she got up and stood before him, her finger pointed at him with an angry face.

For a moment, Tom thought she looked delightfully attractive with that face, but he soon dismissed the idea.

"I _want_ someone to disappear from Rapture. I was told that you could do anything."

Tom tilted his head back and let out a barking laugh, crossing his arms over his chest as he got to his feet. He looked down at her with a darkened expression, leaning a shoulder against one of the poles that people usually held onto to keep steady during the ride.

"And who told you that," he murmured in a dark voice. Up close and in the light, Hermione could see that his eyes were a distinct pale green. She even had the pleasure to watch them darken into an almost black with his current range of emotion.

She said nothing.

"I'm a Smuggler. And not just any Smuggler. I'm _the_ Smuggler. But like any powerful man in this world, we have our limitations."

Hermione remained quiet, looking up at him with a discomfited look. Maybe this whole plan _was_ impossible. It felt as if her heart had sunk into her stomach and she just wanted to be alone. _Hopefully for the rest of my life_.

"Can you at least _try_? What's the point in saying 'no' if you don't _know_." There was something in the woman's voice that made Tom straighten up a bit, his dark expression turning into something more on the brooding side.

Tom Riddle had to admit, he had never even tried to make someone _disappear_ from Rapture. To take someone up to the above world?

He went through all the scenarios in his mind during their ride to Mercury Suites while Hermione sat back down, glaring off into the distance with a disappointed look and pursed lips.

* * *

Hermione's apartment was the penthouse at the top floor. The entire roof was made out of the thick-paned glass looking up into the sea, joining with a large section of the farthest two walls made of the same glass, looking out over Rapture. The two walls were apart of the living area. Four dark burgundy couches sat along two sides of a large ornate rug, a glassed-over coffee table in the middle with a tissue box, stack of books, half-full ashtray, and an untouched cup of some liquid. In the farthest corner, along a wall of framed pictures over faded red wallpaper, was a grand bookshelf, filled with a number of books that must have been close to a hundred.

Tom walked up to the pictures, eying them after watching Hermione take off her heals and pad through an archway that looked to have led into a kitchen.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked with a scratchy voice. The woman sounded tired.

"No," Tom called in response.

Hermione soon came out with a clear glass of water. She sipped on it and crossed her free arm over her stomach, her eyes wary of Tom.

The pictures on the wall were of a small number of people. The first his eyes landed on was of a wedding picture. He recognized the groom as Andrew Ryan, and the young bridesmaid as Hermione. The woman in the veil and with a big, warm smile must have been her mother. The next was a picture of Hermione holding the hand of her mother, who was laying in a medical bed with a small, weak smile. That must have been before Mrs. Ryan died. The third was another wedding photo. Only this time, Hermione was the bride, and her husband looked like...someone he'd never think she'd marry.

"You're married?" Tom asked with disbelief. He had never heard of a husband, nor does he see one around. The picture didn't even look far-off old. It could have been taken in the past five years even.

"Was," she corrected. Tom turned around and saw Hermione's back facing him. She was looking out the windows.

"Was?" he echoed in a question. He pushed his cigarette into the coffee table's ashtray and went back to the pictures, looking over her wedding picture once more. "Why hadn't I heard of this?"

He heard the smirk in her voice. "Because it was supposed to be kept secret for some years. That was before he found a new job."

Tom furrowed his eyebrows together, confused. _What the bloody hell_... "A new job."

Hermione sighed.

"He's a Big Daddy now." Her voice sounded broken, sad, scared.

Tom looked back at her, a seriously confounded expression. _I can't believe it. No wonder she kept it all a secret._

He shook his head when she said nothing more and went back to the pictures. He found another picture. And this was just of a little child, a girl, posing in an expensive dress in front of a window looking out into the city.

_She had a child too?_

Tom's eyes found the last two framed photos on the wall. One was of the little girl smiling widely in front of what appeared to be a birthday cake. And the last was the little girl again, a bit older, smiling between her mother and father.

He turned away from the photos and slowly walked over to the couch closest to Hermione, thinking over everything that he had just took in.

Tom looked up at Hermione when the realization hit him. His eyebrows, which had been previously furrowed, relaxed as he got to his feet and Hermione finally turned her head and looked at him with watery eyes.

"Your daughter is a Little Sister."

Hermione looked away from Tom, staring with hatred outside. The very memory brought pain to her and she wished to any god out there that Tom hadn't figured that out. She wanted to cry. She wanted to just _be alone_. Forever.

It was a messed up thing, and Tom hadn't the heart to make any sort of remark about it.

"What was her name?" he asked breathlessly. This was an interesting thing to learn about someone, _anyone_, in Rapture.

Hermione shook her head, refusing to answer before her wet eyes met with Tom's. A tear had already spilt down her cheek and her mascara was smudged. "Ryan won't let me leave the city. I need you to help me."

_She just can't seem to get it, can she. _"_I'm just a Smuggler_," Tom said resentfully.

_What a clueless bloke_, Hermione hissed in her mind as she breathed deeply, glaring at him as she sniffled and wiped away a tear, causing her makeup to now be smeared across her cheek.

"I just _know_ you can do me this one favor. I'll pay you in _anything_. You have my word."

_Anything_.

The possibilities were endless.

Hermione, daughter-in-law of Andrew Ryan, wasn't allowed out of Rapture. The way she had said it before made it seem like apart from everyone else in Rapture, she was _especially_ not allowed to leave. Why?

He thought of his boss, Fontaine. He could easily get Hermione in their mini sub that Fontaine provides them to go and bring back illegal goods, but that could get him into serious trouble, which might defeat any chances of his own plans here in Rapture.

_But still, what could be worth it?_ It didn't take him long to know the answer to that.

He's been in need of money. And _lots_ of it. And this could be the perfect client for that one problem. _But she did say anything_. He could double up any number of things that she could pay him. He had no problems with ADAM nor EVE. He had plenty of supplies stored up for himself in the Smuggler's hideout. He knew he didn't need anything else besides money.

Wheels turned over in his mind.

_I hadn't been in close physical contact with a real woman in a long time_, he soon thought, his eyes raking over Hermione's body. _But that would be rude, asking her to sell herself to me for one night_. Then again, at what point did payment and rudeness interject?

Hermione had composed herself, wiping her eyes, getting her breath back to normal. She watched Tom, seeing the wheels turn in his mind. She had a feeling he'd need a number of things, but what would he choose? What would he honestly want? She had to remind herself that she'd be prepared for whatever he'd ask of her.

Because all that mattered in the end was her escape from Rapture, not how she'd get there.

"I want _two_ things from you, Miss Granger." He held up two fingers in emphases as their eyes met. "Is that understood? And these things aren't just _simple_."

She sucked in a breath and tilted her chin up a smudge, her heart beating rapidly in her ears as fear crept up her spine and made her shiver under Tom's darkening gaze.


End file.
